


a soft place to land

by eg1701



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Break Up, Character Study, Gen, Greg being Greg, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Post-Break Up, Self-Reflection, kind of lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27907861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eg1701/pseuds/eg1701
Summary: Greg shows up at his mother's after a break up, and Marianne reflects on things.
Relationships: Greg Hirsch & Marianne Hirsch, Greg Hirsch/Tom Wambsgans
Comments: 9
Kudos: 22





	a soft place to land

**Author's Note:**

> not me being emo over marianne hirsch 
> 
> title from the waitress song of the same name

To be perfectly honest, Greg looked just as surprised at his being at the house as she was. He hadn’t called, hadn’t texted, had just shown up in a rented car with a single backpack and had apologized for it being so late.

“I couldn’t get an earlier flight,” he said, by way of explanation for the hour and his mother’s stare.

She didn’t reply, just ushered him into the kitchen, out of the cold night air. 

“Did you fuck up?” she asked quietly. He threw his bag down on one of the chairs and then put his head in his arms on the table. If it was this late, he’d had to have been traveling for most of the day, but she had no idea when he left, or if he’d even been in New York. He was vague in his messages now, like he was keeping things from her. It seemed logical to assume he’d fucked up massively this time, come home to hide. 

“No,” he muttered, “Tom and I had a fight. A real bad one.”

“Oh,” it did not come out as even remotely sympathetic, but Greg wouldn’t be surprised at that, “Did you break up?”

He half shrugged, and she watched him sit up enough to run a hand over his face, “Yeah. A little I guess.”

“You don’t look well,” she said, “When did you eat last?”

“Like breakfast this morning I guess.”

She glanced up at the clock above the stove and frowned. It was nearly eleven at night now, meaning it was well into the early morning back in New York. Breakfast would have been a good ten hours ago or so.

“You can’t go all day without eating,” Marianne said firmly, pulling open the fridge and taking out the leftovers of the dinner she’d made a few nights ago, “Take your jacket off. I’ll warm something up for you.”

“I’m just going to go to bed,” Greg said.

“No you’re not,” she dumped the contents of the container into a bowl and stuck it in the microwave. She knew she should probably take the time to heat it up on the stove, but she wanted him to eat sooner rather than later, “You’re eating and telling me what the _fuck_ made you show up here unannounced. Besides, this is your favorite.”

“Oh that pasta you make?” Greg asked, perking up just a tad. 

She smiled, “Yes.”

“Like, thanks.”

Neither of them spoke while she finished making dinner and sat it at the table. There was no coffee, and she was pretty sure she wasn’t going to give Greg caffeine this late, so instead she poured him a glass of water and sat across from him.

She wasn’t upset that he didn’t come home too often. He was needed at work, needed in New York and that was fine. He’d finally made a place in the world, got to stop relying on her, got out of this Goddamn town and everything it entailed. She missed him, sure. He was her only child after all, but he’d had it so tough, that even when she heard the bad things, or he called her and vaguely implied about how awful it was, she tried to remind herself that he was doing everything that she could not.

(Whether or not that was good, she didn’t know. Maybe it made her a bad mother. She didn’t know that either.)

“We’re like, technically broken up I think,” Greg said, in between bites. It was strange, that she’d made that pasta the other night. She must have been thinking about how much Greg liked it, must have had a flash of mother’s intuition or something, “We got into a fight.”

“Uh huh.”

“And I just, I didn’t know what else to do, cause it’s not like I could go to Kendall’s and tell him I’m fighting with his brother in law. I didn’t know where else to go Mom.”

She nodded, “You know you can come home Greg.”

“But I shouldn’t, like, have to. I have a home and a job and I’m finally doing _something._ ”

When Greg had first told her, carefully, dancing around it at first, about Tom, she had been worried. It was too similar, too familiar for her to have much faith it could work. Hadn’t Greg learned from his own father that that wasn’t the sort of person who stuck around? Who gave a shit? Was that just one more lesson he’d never learned?

But she had seen quickly that Greg had fallen in love. That it was too late. No matter what she said, Greg would counter it. Or if he couldn’t, he’d just ignore it. Love made you do stupid things.

Frankly, it wasn’t surprising it had gone south. But that would be a conversation for the morning.

“This is your home,” she said firmly, “I’m your mother. I’d be shitty if I didn’t let you in after this. Stay the weekend. Try and figure it out I guess.”

“You’re happy about it,” he said.

“I’m not happy if you’re upset,” she stood up, and came over to kiss his forehead. That was the truth, of course she wasn’t happy he was upset about this. Greg had inherited most of his traits from his father. Even now, when she looked back at old photos, the resemblance was almost uncanny. She often encouraged Greg to use his name, his bloodline to his advantage, but in the end, the boy was physically all Hirsch, “I’m your mother. We can talk about it in the morning.”

Affection had never been her strong suit. Her father wasn’t cruel, not really. She was sure that Ewan loved her as much as he was able to, that he did the best he could, but she’d never been able to be like the mothers who could hold and comfort their children, who could encourage them when things were bad. She had been raised to hold her head up and sort it out. The world wasn’t kind, wasn’t fair. It didn’t give a shit about you. Maybe it wasn’t the right way to raise a child. Maybe she should have tried harder when Greg was younger, but it was too late now. 

And the world _had_ been unkind to Greg. She’d just tried to toughen him up. To get him to be able to take care of himself. The scrape by when he had to. 

“Tomorrow,” she said again, hesitating for half a second before awkwardly hugging him. It was too hard when he was standing, given how much height he had on her, “Tomorrow you can tell me about it.”

“You don’t even like Tom.”

“Tomorrow,” she said, hoping it would be the end for tonight, “Eat your dinner and get some rest.”

What had been on Greg’s mind that he hadn’t even _called_ to say he was coming over? Had he expected her to slam the door in his face? To tell him that she was done playing his mother now that he'd established herself?

She tried to think about what her father would do in this place. Ewan had been sympathetic when she’d been going through it all with her husband, but he’d also been very clear that he had disapproved from the beginning. That if she had just _listened_ that she wouldn’t be in this spot in the first place, and was that now somehow _his_ fault?

He’d have let her in, let her sleep in her old bedroom and had breakfast for her in the morning, but it would have been an obligation more than anything else. When there had been so many financial troubles during the divorce, when she’d had nowhere else to go, Ewan had let them stay at the ranch, but only because she was his daughter and Greg was his grandson, not because it was the right thing to do.

People used to ask her what it was like to be a Roy, to have _the_ Logan Roy as her uncle. It was nothing special, she would say, to the preppy girls at the boarding schools she’d go to, and to the families at parties and galas. Maybe it would be different to be Logan’s daughter, and not Ewan’s, but Marianne much preferred the somewhat normalcy of her own branch. She’d been more than happy to shed her maiden name, a fact she would never tell Greg, who had clung to it since he’d known what it meant. 

But maybe the Roys were cursed after all. 

They were one of the wealthiest families in the world, but money couldn’t buy her father’s genuine care, couldn’t buy her the ability to throw everything else aside and be a mother in her son’s eyes, and not someone he could disappoint.

It was best not to think about it just now. One crisis at a time.

****

She made Greg coffee and breakfast when he woke up. She did not comment on the large circles under his eyes, or the way he only poked at his plate instead of scarfing it down like he would have usually don.

“So?” she prompted. 

“Like I don’t know,” Greg shrugged and looked down at this plate instead of meeting her eyes, “like I knew it couldn’t last. He’s not getting a divorce just for me. I just, I guess I thought like maybe he would.”

“You have a habit of getting your hopes up.”

“You don’t have to say that. I already know that.”

When Greg had first been born, in the very early months, when it was just them, Marianne would sometimes just watch him sleep. She was worried he’d suddenly stop breathing, worried about every little hiccup and cough and fever, worried it would be the end. Nobody had ever really taught her how to be a mother. And even now, even after every stupid thing Greg had done, she worried still.

“Has he called?”

Greg nodded, “I didn’t pick it up. It’s my fault. I know it was my fault.”

“I don’t understand you sometimes Greg,” Marianne sighed, “You had so much potential when you got to New York. You got a job, a good job at that. Where did it all go wrong?”

“Yeah,” Greg ran a hand through his hair, “I don’t like, really know. I thought it would be good, but it just went to shit.”

“How long are you staying here?”

“I don’t know.”

Maybe she should have been more sympathetic. Should have gone over to comfort him. But she didn’t know how.

“Eat your breakfast,” she said instead, softly, warmly, “Stay as long as you want.”

****

Greg spent a lot of his time in his old bedroom. Marianne kept it neat and mostly untouched. There were still piles of old school books on the desk, ancient posters on the wall, an assortment of childhood toys shoved into the closet. Greg had long since really outgrown the twin sized bed, but he hadn’t complained about it yet.

She popped in to see him sometimes, just to make sure he was alright. He’d always retreated to his room when he was little and stressed out. She’d find him in his bedroom at the ranch, hiding out away from dinner guests, or lurking in his room when she and his father fought. 

The strange thing was that when you were a Roy, or at least Roy adjacent, you never had to be alone. There were dinners and galas and summer homes and charity balls and everything you could possibly want, but Marianne had always felt frightfully alone. She was older than her cousins, and on the rare occasions both sides of the family were together, it was more like babysitting than hanging out. Then Greg had been born, and it was the first time she’d really felt like she had someone all her own. He had been a clingy child-- and she hadn’t known how to handle that. 

“Here’s your laundry,” she knocked lightly on the door and pushed it open. Greg looked up from his spot in bed where he was on his laptop. She hesitated at the door, then came inside and set the pile down. After another moment, she came and sat on the edge of the bed, “What are you doing?”

“Nothing much,” he shrugged.

“Come here,” she said.

“What?”

“Come here.”

She pulled him into a hug. It was much easier to hug him when they were both sitting down and though he didn’t seem to understand at first, he let her hold him. 

“I’m sorry you broke up,” she said. The guilt had kept her up most of the night. She hadn’t been very sympathetic, hadn’t cared enough, that was it. She didn’t _want_ to be the next generation of Roys. She wanted to just be Greg’s mother. He was all she had, but sometimes she was all _he_ had as well. If he couldn’t tell her the truth, what did that make her?

No better than her father. No better than her husband. 

“I’ll be alright,” Greg said.

“You’re a smart boy,” she said, “I know you are. And I’ve been firm with you. I just wanted you to be able to take care of yourself. Not to rely on anybody else. It always ends badly. You can’t rely on anybody in this world Greg. Just you. Not the Roys, not Tom. Not anybody. You have to know that.”

“I’m trying,” Greg said, “But like, I don’t-- I don’t want to be by myself.”

“I know. But you’ll be strong enough,” she leaned back and put her hands on his face, so they were more eye to eye, “It’s been hard. I know it’s not all your fault. But everything had been hard. Maybe this is a good thing.”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t, like, _feel_ good.”

“What do you want to do Greg?” She tried not to sound exasperated, but it was hard. She wanted answers, wanted plans. Greg would be content to stay in bed for the next week and let life happen around him but that was unhealthy, “Do you want me to take you to New York? Do you want me to call Tom? Do you want to move back home? What do you want? Just give me _something._ ”

“Can we go to the ranch? Like we used to do over the summers?” Greg said suddenly, “I think, like, maybe that would be nice. To see Grandpa. Do you think he’s still mad at me? I mean, like after everything. He was going to cut me out of his will.”

“He wouldn’t have done that,” Marianne said, though she wasn’t entirely sure that was true. Her father, she thought at least, wasn’t as harsh as his brother, but he wasn’t a picnic. But the deep seated resentment her father felt for his brother might have overtaken any affection for his grandson, “you know what he’s like. I’ll call and tell him we’re going up for the weekend. Alright?”

“Sounds good Mom.”

"You never have to be afraid to come home," she said firmly, "I know that I pushed you Greg. I know you think that you've disappointed me or whatever the case is, but I just want you to be happy. I want you to be proud of yourself, to make a space for yourself in this shit world. Right?"

"I know."

"But you can always come home when you need to. When you're upset. I'm your mother Goddamnit."

"I know that too."

She kissed his forehead, "It's going to be alright."

This may have been true. Sure, it might be alright. Whatever Greg was mixed up in with Kendall and Waystar might be alright. It might be alright with Tom, and it might all go to hell in a handbasket. But she wanted him to know that no matter what she said, she did love him.

"I don't know," she combed through his hair like she used to do when he was little and didn't feel well, "Maybe I should have just told you to come home when you flunked out of the park."

"I didn't flunk out technically."

" _Maybe,_ " she began, ignoring him, "I should have been more helpful. I tried so hard to get you to do things on your own but maybe you're just meant to have people to help you. There's nothing wrong with that I suppose."

"I thought you would be mad at me if I fucked up in New York."

"Not _mad_ Greg. You've made mistakes before. You know that. But then again so have I. I just wanted you to be _better_ than me. Better than your grandfather. That's just being a mother. Maybe you'll understand one day if you ever have children. It's hard to explain it to you. I wanted you to be your best and I knew you weren't. You were fooling around. That's why I was so harsh with you. But you don't need that now."  
"Will you stay for a little bit longer?" he asked quietly.

"Yes. I will."

****

It had been an interrogation telling her father that they were going up to the ranch, but Marianne had plenty of experience with that and eventually he’d conceded and agreed to them coming to stay.

She had warned Greg that it would be _his_ turn in the hot seat and over dinner she’d been proved right. 

“I thought you were changing the world at Waystat?” Ewan asked. She could practically hear the venom in her father’s voice. She shot a glance at Greg who remained mostly slumped in his chair and stared at his wine glass. Maybe he was still too upset to notice the tone.

“Yeah it’s uh, it’s a lot,” Greg said, “besides I was like, seeing somebody and we broke up and I needed to like, get away for a bit you know?”

“Uh huh. Was it serious?”

“Sort of. I don’t know. I hoped it would be.”

“It’s best to get out of those things before you marry,” Ewan said, eying his daughter, “that way there’s no money or anything involved.”

She knew it was a dig at her. Knew it was a dig at her ex husband. She let it slide. 

“I saw what Kendall did,” Ewan remakes casually, taking a bite of his salad, “I didn’t think he had it in him. But when someone is as vile as that family, you never know who they’ll hit next. It could be your turn.”

“He’s not so bad Grandpa.”

“Evidently. I saw you there too.”

Greg shrugged, “I think just like, what Logan did was horrible. I don’t know. I had, like, my own interests to protect.”

Marianne had avoided all talk of the cruise ship nonsense. It felt bad to kick Greg when he was already so down. And he hadn’t elaborated at all. But Ewan didn’t take prisoners.

“It’s probably going to work out,” Greg said, “like I’ll be fine. Kendall said he’d like, take care of everything. What I asked for. I don’t know. 

It was the wrong thing to say, but Ewan merely nodded, “you really think so?”

“Yeah. I don’t know. I guess.”

Marianne wasn’t so sure. If Kendall found out about Tom, then that deal might be thrown out the window, but she was fairly certain Greg hadn’t forgotten who Tom was married to. Maybe that had been worked into everything.

“I told you before Greg. That family is a nest of vipers. You’re better off without them.”

It was her father’s way of being supportive. But she knew it was probably frightfully unhelpful. 

“But,” Ewan continued, “this person you were seeing. Was it love?”

“I mean maybe. I don’t know. It’s complicated. I guess I just came here to like, try and figure it out away from everybody.”

Ewan didn’t respond. The conversation dropped and Marianne hoped, not for the first time, that the universe, or God, or whoever would cut her son a fucking break. 

Her father launched into a discussion of a European trade deal she was sure Greg knew nothing about, but Greg BSed his way through. Maybe it was an attempt to get them all thinking of something else. To take Greg’s mind off the bad things. 

She liked to think her father would do that. 

****

The days passed. Greg did not discuss his plans (or lack thereof) or New York at all. He followed Ewan on his morning walks— much to Marianne’s surprise and took one single phone call from New York. She thought it was Kendall only because she’d watched him decline four of Tom’s calls in the past three days and she was sure that was only a small percentage of them. He didn’t talk about whatever was said, but still, she assumed Kendall. Talking to Tom seemed to be the last thing Greg wanted to do. 

Marianne was no business woman but she knew that whatever was going on was precarious and Greg had landed himself squarely in the middle of it all. She’d seen enough of that during the senate hearings. Greg had called her in a panic ten minutes before he was set to testify and all she could do was keep him from going in there having a full blown panic attack. 

If she had known what was going to happen, she wasn’t sure she’d have sent him to New York in the first place. Yes, he needed to pull his shit together, needed a steady income and a solid job, but what kind a mother would she be if she had known exactly what he was going to get dragged into and sent him anyway?

She was marginally surprised at Ewan letting them stay without any mention of when they might leave. Secretly, she thought maybe Ewan deeply approved of Greg’s actions against Logan, but he’d never come out and just _say_ that this was a reward. 

On the fifth day-- they were bleeding together now-- it started to rain. Marianne bounced around the idea of going home, leaving Greg to sort things out with his grandfather, but she felt bad leaving him still. She wasn’t satisfied that he was going to be alright. 

The rain was loud against the roof in the breakfast nook. It looked onto the land, and she watched the dark clouds roll in, watched the rain beat down on the widow. 

Marianne had always loved the rain. 

“Mr. Roy?” one of the staff, Emma, said, stepping into the room. Marianne always thought it was odd her father still kept a staff, given the way he liked to live, the nasty things he said about the sort of people who could afford to keep staff, but now that he was older, she was glad for their presence. It reassured her that someone would be there if something happened, “There’s someone here to see your grandson.”

Marianne and Ewan exchanged a look.

“This is going to be the boyfriend isn’t it.”

“Likely,” Marianne sighed, “I’ll speak to him.”

“Very well then,” Ewan said dismissively. Marianne set her napkin down, muttered to Emma that it’d be nice if she could get Greg up and somewhat presentable, and she went out to the front porch. There was a small part of her that was satisfied knowing that the porch was covered, but Tom was a few feet away, and was getting rained on. It was a nasty thought, but she liked it anyway.

“Hello Tom.”

“Hi Mrs. Hirsch.”

“How’d you figure out to come here?”

“Uh,” Tom rubbed the back of his neck, “Greg shared his location with me a month ago or so because he was afraid he was going to get mugged or something equally as stupid and he never stopped. I tried calling.”

“I know,” she crossed her arms across her chest, “He’s been ignoring you. Why are you here?”

“Look, I know you must hate me. After everything. And if Greg never wants to see me again, I fucking get it you know? But I guess I had to try.”

“Uh huh,” she said. This was somehow her business but also not at all her business. The mother part of her wanted to tell Tom to get back in his car and leave, because he’d upset her son to the point that he’d come crawling home. She hadn’t seen Greg like this in a long time. The other part though, knew that this was between Tom and Greg. She had no place in their relationship-- whatever that might be-- and it would be unfair of her to send Tom away and not let Greg at least hear him out. That seemed like the right thing to do, “He’ll be up soon. He’s asleep.”

“Yeah it’s a little early. I realize that now. I know that Greg probably told you everything.”

She shrugged. It was better to pretend that was the case. She didn’t want Tom to have the upperhand. 

“And so, if you wanted to hate me, I would understand. That would _be_ understandable. But I didn’t mean it. I have to tell Greg I was just angry.”

Honestly, she wasn’t surprised that Greg had kept whatever Tom said from her. That he had put the blame for the break up on himself. She’d blamed her divorce on herself for _years_ and it’d be stupid to think Greg never picked the habit up. 

The front door opened, and Greg, mostly dressed, but still half asleep popped out.

“Hi Tom,” he said, and she was impressed by how neutral his tone was, “Why are you here?”

“I wanted to talk to you. You didn’t answer my calls.”

“Yeah.”

Marianne debated going inside. This should be left between the two of them, but when she took a step back, Tom held up a hand.

“No, Mrs. Hirsch, you should hear it too. I know that you two are close and just,” he frowned, “Greg, all that shit I said. All of it was untrue. That was so fucking cruel. I don’t-- you’re not just a hookup. You’re not. You’re my honest to God only friend and I love you.”

“You do?” Greg asked quietly.

Tom nodded, “I fucking do. And maybe it’s kind of shitty of me to show up here unannounced and all, given everything, but I had to see you. If you want me to go I will. You’ll never have to see me again. I won’t call you. Nothing. Just say it.”

“I don’t want that,” Greg said, “Like, you definitely know that’s not what I want. But you’re _married._ ”

“I don’t think that’s going to last much longer,” Tom frowned. That surprised Marianne, who was under the impression from Greg that Tom and Shiv were stuck together at this point, “What I think I’m asking you is if you’ll give me a second chance. Let me try again.”

Greg glanced at his mother, who gave him as encouraging a smile as she could. 

“Yeah. I mean, I guess so,” Greg said, and Marianne slipped inside so they could kiss and make up.

****

When they returned to the kitchen-- flowers in hand, a lovely bouquet, Tom must have had them in the car-- Ewan looked Tom up and down in mild disgust.

“ _This_ is who you were seeing?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Greg smiled. He looked flushed, and a little breathless, and Marianne was glad she’d given them their privacy, “This is Tom.”

“We’ve met,” Ewan said cooly, “I didn’t know this was who you’d been seeing. Aren’t you Shiv’s husband?”

Tom looked between Greg and Ewan.

“Uh, technically yes. It’s very complicated.”

“Greg?” Ewan asked sharply. Marianne watched her father carefully. She wasn’t actually entirely sure what he was going to say, and also wasn’t entirely sure how Greg would react if it was bad. She knew that she’d have to be on Greg’s side. That was obvious.

“Yes?” Greg straightened slightly, and she watched Tom put a light hand on Greg’s back. An _I’m right here_ sort of a touch.

“Will you be happy with him?”

“Yes,” Greg said, “Yes I will. Like, happier than honestly probably I’ve ever been.”

“And Tom?”

“Yes sir?” Tom replied. 

“You’re not going to pull any of this bull anymore? You’re leaving Shiv officially? Because I won’t have you bouncing back and forth on my grandson like that. My family is not the butt of Logan’s jokes.”

“That’s my plan sir, to leave her,” Tom said. He glanced over at Greg, and Marianne wondered how she could have ever thought it wasn’t love, “I’m going to be on my very best behavior with Greg.”

“I don’t see what the problem was,” Ewan turned back to Marianne and motioned to the two of them standing there, “They seem perfectly fine to me. You worry too much.”

“We’re going out,” Greg said. He handed the flowers off to his mother, “Me and Tom. To get breakfast. We’ll be back later.”

She ran a gentle finger over one of the flowers. She’d had a friend in school who knew all the flower meanings, and could build you the perfect bunch for any occasion, had built her wedding centerpieces with all the love that had leached from the marriage over the years. 

She wondered what these meant, if they meant anything at all. Hyacinths she recognized, but the others were unfamiliar. Maybe they meant nothing at all, Tom had just stopped at the first florist he’d come across, but the romantic in her that she’d never outgrown liked to think otherwise.

“Have fun,” she said, standing to dig for a vase, “Drive safe.”

“Bye Mom, bye Grandpa,” Greg called, pulling Tom by the hand outside.

“Well?” Ewan asked, when the door had shut, “Did you know about that?”

“Yes,” she flipped on the water, “Tom’s a nice enough man. I think all the time in New York made him too hard, but he’s nice. He makes Greg happy.”

Ewan made a noise that Marianne took to mean he was less than thrilled about the situation, but remained silent. It would be hard for Ewan to believe that. She didn’t entirely blame him, but maybe if he just got to know Tom. If Greg brought him to Christmas or something. She thought they might get along well enough.

There she went again. Trying to _fix_ things. 

“I think they’re good for each other,” she frowned at the flowers as she shifted them around so they fit neatly in the vase, “In their own way. Greg needs someone to take care of him. You know that. It can’t be me anymore. He’s all grown now.”

“You couldn’t tell there for a while.”

“Everybody makes mistakes when they’re young,” she reasoned. She’d always ragged on Greg for things, tried to push him, but she didn’t like hearing it from Ewan. It was something she was allowed to do, as Greg’s mother, but no one else could, “He’s doing well enough now. I know you don’t like Waystar, but you saw what he did. You’re proud of him.”

Ewan chuckled, “I didn’t expect it, that’s for sure. We’ll see what comes out of it in the end.”

“We will.”

“Maybe you should get remarried Marianne,” Ewan said, popping open his newspaper, “Steal another of Logan’s employees. I just know this will somehow be _my_ fault. Like I sent my grandson to New York like some kind of whore to steal Logan’s son in law.”

“It’ll be fine Dad,” she said softly, coming over to set the vase on the table. It looked lovely in the morning light. She pressed a kiss to her father’s forehead, “I just want him to be alright you know?”

“That’s all we want for our children,” Ewan shook his head, “Well, most of us anyway. I tried my best for you. That man you married-”

“Please,” she shook her head, “Let’s just finish breakfast alright?”

“Alright,” he said after a moment.

“Thanks,” she sat back down and picked up her coffee, “You know, it was nice spending the weekend here. It’s been a bit.”

“It was nice to have you,” Ewan said, and she was fairly certain he meant it. Maybe he was growing sentimental in his old age, “And Greg. Family’s important.”

“Mmm,” she took a sip of her coffee, and had a brief thought that maybe their family was going to end up encompassing Tom, “It is.”

**Author's Note:**

> i actually have a real life friend (find her [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AintNoPrincess) where she writes for our ongoing dnd campaign) who's very into flower language things so below is the bouquet she gave me for the occasion! if ur into original work give her a look she's very talented!!
> 
> hyacinths- to ask for forgiveness  
> bluebells- for humility  
> peony- bashfulness  
> myrtle- love  
> tied with a blue braided ribbon
> 
> thanks as always


End file.
